Chapter 7
“How is this different from any other guitar out there?”
Harley studied the design of the thing and couldn’t deny that it looked pretty cool. The question still stood, though.
“Because this is a unique piece,” said the guy.
“This,” he stressed, tapping the electric guitar with a stubby index finger, “is a one-of-a-kind deal, buddy. You have never seen anything like it, and you never will again. This,” he added, leaning in and wafting some really bad breath in Harley’s direction, “was made to Daniel’s specifications. ”
In spite of himself, Harley’s eyebrows shot up. “Daniel himself had this made?”
“Absolutely. Not only did he provide the specs and oversee production, but he personally played this guitar. Took it on tour with him and used it on countless records.”
Harley couldn’t help being mightily impressed. “How do I know you’re not making all of this up?”
The other guy shrugged and then slowly turned over the instrument. He pointed to a small mark on the back. As Harley leaned in, he saw that the letters DB had been written there with magic marker, and also a small butterfly symbol had been carved into the wood.
A sense of heat rushed through him at the sight, for he knew what this meant: Daniel marked every single one of his guitars in this way.
He had talked about it often enough in the past, and as Harley studied the butterfly, he couldn’t resist letting his hand slide over it.
It felt smooth to the touch, and yet the knowledge that the one and only Daniel Bozek had actually held this guitar—and made the inscription—played the instrument…
“I’ll take it,” he said as he tried to suppress the sense of exhilaration he was feeling.
He had gone out looking for Turbo Heartthrob’s latest record, and instead he had hit on something even better. An item so unique that he couldn’t believe his good fortune.
“You won’t regret it,” said the guy as he handed over the instrument. “That’ll be twenty grand. In crypto, if you please.”
Harley nodded. “Not a problem.” He had a crypto wallet, especially for occasions such as these, since he knew that many collectors didn’t like to handle their affairs in an official capacity, desirous as they were to fly under the radar and not let the Internal Revenue Service in on the money that was changing hands—often big sums of it.
The transaction concluded, Harley lifted the guitar and studied it admiringly, allowing his eyes to feast over its poplar body, maple neck, humbucker pickups, EverTune bridge…
“Do you play?” asked the seller, putting his phone away.
“Yeah, a little,” he said. “Obviously not as well as Daniel Bozek, but I can play a few songs from his catalog.” He dragged his eyes away from the instrument. “How did you get this, if I may ask?”
He and the seller had agreed to meet in the hotel bar, and since the place was practically deserted, it seemed as good a spot as any to conduct their business.
The man had suggested making the exchange in Harley’s room, but inviting a complete stranger upstairs hadn’t struck Harley as particularly prudent, so he had proposed the bar instead.
It was neutral terrain and offered at least some measure of safety—even if the only potential witness was the bartender, who had pointedly ignored them throughout the entire meeting.
“I got it from Turbo Heartthrob’s tour manager,” said the seller, who had reached out directly, probably because Harley didn’t hide the fact that he was one of Turbo Heartthrob’s biggest fans in the States. “He said he didn’t need it anymore, and asked if I could find a buyer.”
“That makes sense,” said Harley, nodding.
Daniel was a well-known guitar nut and acquired new instruments all the time, keeping only the favored ones in his daily rotation.
He had often wondered what he did with the old ones and imagined some warehouse in downtown Kasterbrück-Rauschen filled with guitars that all belonged to Daniel.
Turned out that, like most people, he simply sold them on when he didn’t need them anymore.
“Okay, I gotta split,” said the seller as he held out his hand. “It was great doing business with you.”
“Likewise,” said Harley. “And if you ever lay your hands on another one of these,” he said, holding up his latest acquisition, “please let me know.”
“You’ll be the first one I contact,” the seller assured him with a grin. “See ya, buddy. And good luck with this beauty.”
As he watched the seller leave the bar, a warm glow spread across Harley’s chest. Talk about a turn-up for the books. Just when he figured that the day was lost, he had managed to make the biggest and most important acquisition of his entire life.
Wait till he told Philomena. She’d be over the moon.
Like him, she was a fan of Turbo Heartthrob, and especially the band’s songwriter and musical genius, Daniel Bozek.
And since she had recently picked up the guitar as well and was a fast learner, she’d be thrilled that she could walk in the footsteps of their great idol, the one and only Mr. Bozek himself.
As he touched the master’s guitar reverently, allowing his hands to wander along the long, sensuous neck and the curved body, and gently strum the firm strings, he suddenly got an epiphany of some kind.
What if he didn’t tell his wife that he had acquired one of the master’s guitars? What if he simply gave her the guitar as a birthday gift?
He smiled as he pictured the look on Philomena’s face when she opened the box.
She’d be over the moon. So much so that he wondered if he shouldn’t wait until she turned forty next year.
But since he didn’t think he could wait that long himself, he decided to go ahead with the plan.
After all, her birthday was only a few short weeks away.
As he got up from the table, draining the final dregs of his Aperol spritz, he lovingly tucked the guitar back inside the accompanying bag and left the bar.
This, he was now convinced, was without question one of the highlights of his life. The other highlight, one that had so far managed to remain firmly out of reach, was to sit down with the big man himself and have an in-depth conversation. Maybe become friends, even.
But since that seemed firmly outside the realm of possibility, he figured he’d happily settle for holding the master’s instrument instead.